Note:
Greetings, once again, my lovelies!
I was having difficulties getting chapter nine to upload, so I know you guys had to wait a little longer for that one. I'm so, so sorry for the delay, and I hope this won't happen again!
Une-papillon-de-nuit, your review made my night!
Just a quick personal note: I'm no longer really feeling Anya Taylor-Joy is quite right for Alice. I don't really know what changed, and I know this might work for some, so I'll keep her in the cast, but let me know if there's an actress / model / well-known human being who you think works better, and I will add that person to the cast!
Emotions, emotions, emotions in this chapter! I'm thinking this chapter probably won't be quite as long as chapter nine—because, whoa, that was really, really long. My fingers were cramping up from typing that and my fingers NEVER cramp up. Anyway, the PLAN is for a shorter chapter today. But we'll see. You know better than I. ;)
Thank you, annaliz1981 and isaiahstrum, for following the story! Thanks, alphawolf665, for following and favoriting!
Hope you enjoy, as always!
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling the Utmost Venerable.
Chapter Ten Totally Optional Cast (in order of appearance)
Anya Taylor-Joy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Alice
David Thewlis / Domhnall Gleeson . . . . . Remus Lupin
Carey Mulligan . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inn Owner
Colin Morgan . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Theodore Nott
Adrien Brody . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Logan Morelli
Christian Bale . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Haden Nott
Rosamund Pike . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Vanessa Nott
Sir Michael Gambon . . . . . . . . . . . Albus Dumbledore
Maggie Smith . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Minerva McGonagall
Julie Walters . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Molly Weasley
Mark Williams . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Arthur Weasley
James Phelps . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Fred Weasley
Oliver Phelps . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . George Weasley
X | Summer's End
Godric's Hollow / The Burrow / Diagon Alley
Late August 1994
She lands two meters in front of him, on her hands and knees, knowing instantly that she's broken something. The near-midnight quiet of the small Wizarding town's Main Street had been disrupted just a fraction of a second earlier, by the muted sound of their apparition. Now, it is disrupted again by a faint whimper from her lips as the heels of her hands make painful—almost crunching—contact with the cobblestone street.
It's a wonder she doesn't collapse as a number of delicate bones in her wrists, and both her kneecaps, splinter into hundreds of tiny shards, as easily as glass.
Remus, who has landed a few paces behind, on his feet but just barely, also suffers a slight injury, the great force with which he hits the ground causing the joints of his left leg to send a dangerous ripple effect of jarring up to his hip. He winces and holds in a groan, but takes no time to assess his own wounds before starting forward towards Alice, wincing again at the sight of her, which causes more pain to him than his own injury.
"My deepest apologies," he says, his voice quiet but carrying through the still night air, as he extends a hand toward her.
"I think I need to lie down," she says breathlessly, her body trembling. But the moment she tries to move at all—he can see her wrists have been severely damaged, along with her knees—she whimpers, and quickly restores herself to her previous position, paralyzed with pain.
Remus, with difficulty, but without vocal protestation, lowers himself to the ground and kneels next to her, situating his weight on his undamaged leg as he draws his wand from his pocket.
"Remus—" Alice objects, her voice high, though whispering, looking around suspiciously at the dark windows of the surrounding houses.
"It's alright. No muggles here," Remus assures her. "Breathe in," he instructs, and waits for her to do so before saying, "BrackiumEmendo," under his breath, pointing his wand at one of her wrists.
She inhales sharply in pain, and whimpers again as the bones fuse themselves back to their normal state. "I know," says Remus, wincing and taking her by the shoulder to keep her from collapsing. "I'm sorry. Three more." And as efficiently as he can, he carries out the same process for her other wrist, and both her knees.
The wizard knows that apparating such a distance had been a risk, especially since the girl had already been injured, and he is just days away from his next transformation. But he'd chosen to take it, and even as it is, he knows they're lucky just to have a few bruises, burns and breaks, rather than a more serious splinting. Nevertheless, he feels terrible that Alice has taken the brunt of the physical consequences.
"Let me see your arm," he says softly, after mending the fractures to her bones. Slowly, Alice manages to sit back on her haunches, extending her seriously burned arm in Remus's direction, using her other arm to rub away the tears from her ash- and dirt-covered face. Remus hisses at the sight of the burn. "There's little I can do for this without a cauldron. But, for now… Ferula," he says, and a number of bandages quickly wind their way around the length of her burned forearm, tight enough that the pain is numbed, without inhibiting her circulation. "That will have to do," says Remus, pressing down on the knee of his good leg as he stands up, and then reaches out to take her hand, pulling her to her feet, along with him.
She half-stumbles, half-sinks into a brief embrace, once standing, and can't help but inhale the smell of his jacket—like clean laundry, rain, and a rich, dark pine forest—for the shortest of seconds before reclaiming her own footing and stepping back, separating herself from him, at least in body.
"Where are we?" she asks, looking around at the Tudor-style houses, their windows dark, but the glass panes shining in the light of the nearly-full moon that hovers—cold, white and gibbous—in the inky sky just above the town's old bell tower.
"Godric's Hollow," answers Remus, himself recognizing the place piece by piece. This hadn't been precisely where he'd intended to end up—but at least they are somewhere he knows, even if that somewhere holds dark memories for him.
Guiding his thoughts away from the Potters, he feels an unsubtle tingling in his head that reaffirms his thoughts from before: the apparition had been rough, on its own, but, truly, they are both lucky to be in one piece. "I really do apologize," Remus says, aloud, voicing his thoughts to Alice, who has only now managed to fully get her breath back. "That was executed too hastily. And the risk to you was unacceptable."
He feels compelled to go on, but Alice cuts him off by shaking her head. "I'm fine—" she stars, before leaning over slightly, her own head suddenly overcome by dizziness as the weight of the past few hours truly hits her. From the hectic feeling she'd gotten from being around so many people, to seeing Lucius and Draco, to the overstimulation of the match itself, and the events afterward.
Remus reaches out to her and holds her up with a hand around her waist. "I think I'm about to vomit," Alice warns him, turning her head away. But after a number of deep breaths, the feeling abates, and she shakes her head at herself, embarrassed, but too exhausted and overwhelmed to really care about Remus's opinion.
"Do you know what happened to the others?" she asks him after another moment. The air has grown cold around them briefly, a faint whisper of the not-too-far-off Fall season trickling through the treetops.
"Not yet," the wizard admits. "But I do know it's not safe for us to leave here, until morning. We ought to find an Inn… I think there's one just at the end of this street. But first, for the walking. Ready? Easy does it…"
After a few awkward steps, they finally start moving, Remus wincing silently from the pain in his leg, though he doesn't express that anything is wrong to the girl, who is his primary concern. Eventually, though, once Alice has managed to separate herself from him, and walks at his side, she picks up on the unnatural twisting of his foot and knee as he walks, on her own.
"Are you hurt, at all?" she says, knowingly.
"I feel well, considering," Remus lies.
"You're limping badly," she argues gently.
"It's alright, really. Just ignore it—I'll walk it off in a moment."
And something from the gentle but nearly sad way he says it, makes the girl wonder if it has something to do with the almost-fullness of the moon, hovering like a threatening, accusatory omen over the town. Perhaps, she thinks, this is a regular occurrence, though she'd never before seen him in such a state before his transformations. But, then again, she realizes she's never seen him so close to the night of the full moon, itself—so she decides not to say anything more on the subject.
As they make their way towards the inn at the end of the street, Alice almost loses herself again. She wants to start sobbing, to break down in stages and curl up on the cobblestones. Something in her is whispering evil things: that Draco has been hurt somehow, in the flames, by his father. But she pushes the thought from her mind, knowing that to think about that, right now, is to ensure failure. And something in her subconscious strengthens slightly, in pride at the first true logic it's borne witness to in months: she cannot be a savior to Draco and Fynn until she has first saved herself.
The bell tied to the inn door tinkles when they enter, somewhat startling the witch sitting behind the welcome desk, and not unnerving the silky white cat sitting next to her, whatsoever. A small bowl of mint humbugs sits on the corner of the desk, and a thin trail of smoke swirls steadily upward from the end of the muggle cigarette between the witch's fingers. Something long-lost in Remus coils up in craving at the sight of it—he really wants one right now, suddenly; his mind, on instinct, tells him a drag or two would calm him down. But he hasn't smoked in over a year, now, so he roughly shuns the thought.
The white cat growls in warning at Remus, its hair raising, and he's a bit longer than Alice in approaching the desk.
The woman looks at Alice, her eyes growing in size: the girl's jacket is burned partway off, and she looks like the most tired and battered being on earth—not to mention her dirty and tear-wrecked face. The woman suspiciously looks at the wizard behind the girl, still covered in shadows near the door, seemingly deterred by the cat, and then looks back at the young witch before her.
"My dear, are you quite alright?" says the woman quietly, leaning forward towards the girl, heavily suspicious of the man. "I mean... is there something you want to tell me?"
"I think... we want a room for the night," says Alice, not confused by the woman's demeanor, and proud of herself by so quickly changing the subject.
Behind her, Remus steps forward cautiously and joins Alice, standing at her side and eyeing the white cat, who growls higher and hisses at him. The witch seated behind the desk looks at Remus carefully, and after a moment, something dawns across her face—the man knows that look; it's a look of recognition. And, once the woman has stolen a look out the nearby window at the almost-full moon in the sky, it turns to a look of downright fear.
"We're full," says the witch.
Alice knows immediately what the woman is on about. She sees the way her eyes widen when she looks at Remus, and sees the hair raised along her white cat's back—and she doesn't know how they both know about his condition, but doesn't care at the moment, a sadness fringed with anger scurrying into the forefront of her mind.
The girl knows that Remus might go so far as to turn around and accept the denial, but she refuses to do that. So, making up her mind, she grows slightly taller before the innkeeper witch, and stands up for Remus, herself.
"The sign on the door reads vacant," says Alice, knowing she can't reveal her knowledge of Remus's condition, but still imbues her gaze with a heavy dose of force as she looks at the woman. "And I can see there are a number of rooms open." She motions to the pegboard on the wall behind the witch, whose pegs hold multiple keys, indicating unused rooms.
The witch looks about to make a slur and Remus, in a panic, looks meaningfully at her, saying "Please."
It's clear to the witch that the girl doesn't know about the man's condition. And though she, herself, is frightened, especially by the near-fullness of the moon, her cat has calmed down slightly, and another instinct—the instinct to protect weary travelers (the poor, unprotected girl, in this case), the reason why she'd taken over the Inn in the first place—takes center stage in her heart.
"Please," Remus says again.
Though still reluctant, the woman sitting behind the desk yields after a moment. "You'll have to pay double," she says, not liking the idea of having a werewolf in her Inn whatsoever but doubting that the young witch will leave if she doesn't at least offer them a room, in some form. "Because... of the time of night."
Alice, again, recognizes the euphemism. "He won't pay double," she argues.
"Alice-" Remus interjects.
But she turns to him and says "Shh," brazenly, effectively silencing him. For a moment embarrassment tingles in his throat, but then, he becomes impressed by her sudden mastery of the situation. Of course, he knows, she would probably feel just the same as the innkeeper if she were aware of his condition... and how dangerous it is to be with him so near to the full moon. Despite her rudeness, the witch behind the welcome desk has the right idea. But, at least for the moment, Remus keeps quiet.
Alice and the witch behind the desk engage in a brief staring match. The car growls at Remus and Alice glares at the cat. She can feel her magic welling up; she has to fight for control.
"You can stay the night for the regular fare," the witch agrees at last. "As long as you're gone before breakfast—an hour after dawn, at the latest."
"That-" interjects, Remus, before Alice can get it in her mind to argue, further. "We can agree to."
Alice steps back, her role complete for the time being, while Remus hands over the required amount of money to the witch—who rubs her hand in a paranoid fashion on her leg after taking the coins and is sure to drop the keys to the room into Remus's hand, without touching his skin.
The witch asks Alice again, if there isn't somebody she should call for her, but Alice ignores her, muttering a curse under her breath as she goes up the stairs, Remus following abashedly—but with a certain amount of relief, at leaving behind the bristling white cat—behind her.
"You would benefit from a bath," says Remus to Alice, trying to put it lightly, but frankly horrified by how slight and on the verge of death she looks in the cold blue moonlight cutting through the window.
Alice wants to say something to him about how terrible the witch downstairs had been—especially now that she notices the room itself is clearly one of the poorer ones the establishment has to offer, surely a purposeful move on the innkeeper's part. But she decides against saying anything, knowing it would be nonsensical of her to get worked up, in his eyes, when she isn't supposed to know about why the witch had been so unkind in the first place.
"You're right," she says with a tense exhale, moving to stretch her back but quickly wincing in pain and turning from him in an effort to hide it. "I'll be back in a few minutes," and then hurrying into the small bathroom, working hard to conceal a limp as she goes.
Once inside the bathroom, she waves her hand, willing the candles in the sconces on the walls to light, and though she's exhausted, her magic complies. A Victorian bathtub waits in the center of the room, waiting to be filled, but before she can draw her wand and set about the task, she catches the sight of herself in the mirror, and turns to look at her reflection, startled.
The look of tragedy is inherent in everything about the girl she sees. Both her knees are skinned through ripped knees in her pants. She has a deep purpling bruise across her shoulder and collarbones. Dirt is all over her, from when she'd dropped and rolled on the ground. Her hair is matted with ashes and blood. She looks an absolute wreck. Something in the eyes of the girl in the mirror looks very unnatural and unnerving, and Alice looks quickly away, disturbed, deciding not to think about the fact that her own body is the same boy as the one she'd just seen.
Instead, she channels her abilities into filling the Victorian tub with water, and then heating it with a series of spells she's surprised at and proud of herself for remembering with such ease.
Cautiously, she sets about undressing, hissing in pain as she does so. "Impervius," she says to waterproof the bandages over her burned arm. And then, with great difficulty, she eases her trembling, cold body down into the water, wincing and almost whimpering aloud as she does so—her injuries stinging in the water, and her whole body aching from the warmth.
Her pain is too great for her to think about trying to scrub herself clean, and for a number of minutes she lays there still, and nearly thoughtless, barely breathing—half-unconscious.
"Alice?" Remus's voice interrupts nervously from outside the door, when almost ten minutes have gone by without a sound from her. "Have you fallen asleep in there?"
"Nearly," she admits as she resurfaces, a sudden blush rushing into her cheeks and dizzying her, for reasons she can't quite explain. "Thank you, or I might have drowned."
He makes some mumbled response, and she sits up, the water shifting slightly around her as she begins to scrub at herself finally, the water promptly becoming darker as the ash and dirt and blood separates itself from her skin.
There's no towel in the bathroom, so once she's finished her bath, she cleans her clothes magically, dries off using her jacket, and then dries the jacket again before putting it and her pants on, ignoring the rips in the fabric. Leaning against the wall exhaustedly, fighting just to remain standing up at this hour of night, and after such a horrid and confusing day, she magically drains the tub and extinguishes the candles with a wave of her hand. She takes a moment to collect herself, and then limps out the door into the bedroom, where Remus awaits.
"Well," she says after an awkward moment, seeing that there's nothing to be done but make the obvious observation aloud: "There's only one bed."
The next minute is filled with a series of moves and countermoves by them both, each trying to convince the other into taking the bed for the night. In the end, it's Alice who wins—her argument being that she's the smaller of them, and would therefore have a more comfortable time sleeping in the chair by the window than Remus could. At the last moment she almost adds something about the nearness of his transformation, but then just in time, she gains control of her tongue, quickly turning away from the moon, which she'd been looking at through the window.
Remus, with hidden tactics of his own, consents to taking the bed.
Sure enough, no sooner has the girl sat down in the chair, than she immediately falls asleep, out like a light, the dark purple bruise ghostly on her chest in the cold moonlight. Remus shivers as he passes through its spotlight, and carefully, minding the girl's bandaged arm, picks her up in his arms. She's a healthy weight, but not hard to carry, even considering his exhaustion, and he maneuvers her carefully to the bed, careful not to wake her as he situates her beneath the covers, being especially careful of her neck and head as they meet the not-too-soft but still-functional pillow.
After ensuring that the blankets are adequately pulled up to her chin, and that she is, indeed, fast asleep, the wizard retreats, sitting in the chair, himself. He looks at her for a moment, before turning his gaze to the moon helplessly, watching it as though if he looks at it hard enough, it might be kept from progressing forward further, on its ever-fluxing path of waxing and waning, fullness and newness.
Remus Lupin has had many a staring match with the moon. But tonight is different. The cold celestial body seems closer to the earth than usual, but is still much too far away to be reasoned with. It is like his god. A cruel god—the cruelest and least affectionate of all.
"What do you want from me?" he whispers under his breath.
But, of course, he gets no answer. Knowing he won't be capable of sleep this close to his transformation—he never is, closer than four days out, too full of anxiety and slowly ramping adrenaline to even muster an hour of shuteye—he turns himself stubbornly away from the cold, white face of his lifelong tormentor, his gaze falling instead upon Alice, the blankets surrounding her rising and falling slowly in reaction to her breathing.
After a moment of nothingness, a sudden jolt of somethingness comes up within him, a slight curl, a stir of an entirely inappropriate feeling.
He stops himself short. He's exhausted, yes, but also on edge, and anxious, casting the strange sensation off onto the proximity of his next transformation. And he's sure there's a dose of truth in this excuse he gives himself for the sudden feeling, low in his gut, and pooling outward like an incessant fire. And yet... there's something deep within him that is made... hungry... by the sight of her.
it's more than the adrenaline still coursing through his veins from the events of the night, which had encouraged a sudden return of many old instincts he'd developed and honed during his time with the Order in the first war. It's more than his exhaustion, more than the time of night and the time of month.
A terror seeps through his mind, freezing cold, a terror of his own self, a terror not only of the unstable body surrounding him, but of his head, itself, of his very essence and soul.
Is this something terrible and truly wolfish welling up within him? Something more than hunger? Is he comparable to the infamous Big Bad who'd eaten the little girl in the red cloak on her way to her grandmother's house in the muggle fable? Is he, Remus Lupin, truly Bad?
the moon's light seems to laugh as it slices down into the room, and quickly he turns himself away from the girl, staring at the grimy corner of the chilly room—though both the presence of the moon at his one side, and the presence of Alice at his other, is only made more maddening by the fact that he refuses to face either of them.
In the morning, Alice wakes to find herself laying under the warm covers of the stiff but serviceable bed, and Remus sitting In the chair, facing the window, watching the sunrise. He looks over at her and smiles wearily, something in his eyes on edge. They are out of the inn, and out of Godric's Hollow, long before the other patrons wake to breakfast.
A twist of blank anger takes hold of Theodore Nott's face as he sits in the great room and listens to his parents' long-overdue confessions. The house breathes creakily around them. Logan Morelli, every part of him but his hooked bird-like nose covered in shadows, stands in the corner, observing discreetly.
Haden and Vanessa Nott have made the decision, at last, to tell their son about their daughter, the daughter who they still have not found, the daughter who they wish would come home... the daughter they have just requested Logan Morelli strengthen his search for, the daughter who had not been at Hogwarts, as they'd suspected, who had somehow moved away, right under their noses, just a step ahead of their reaching fingertips.
Theodore stands, slighted, anger and spite curling inside of his body like a dark smoke that won't let him cough, or expel it in any way.
Haden, who had been one of the cloaked Death Eaters to take part in the raid at the World Cup just days before, feels his own horror at what he's done by not telling his son of the girl, sooner. The feeling is like a hammer, tapping on each of his nerves in turn, cycling around and around.
Vanessa sits in her chair by the untuned, dusty harpsichord, her knuckles white against her skin, her face taut and emotionless.
Their son screams.
The walls tremble.
Adrian Morelli carries the news to Dumbledore an hour later, his robes swirling around him stubbornly in the early autumn air as he hurries, almost at a run, across the bridge, into the castle, and through the corridors.
The staff have arrived earlier than usual, and everyone bustles about busily, preparing the school to serve as host for Beauxbatonsand Durmstrang. The messenger finds the Headmaster and Proffessor McGonagall together in the courtyard gardens, enjoying a short respite from the other happenings around them.
"How lovely the roses smell, today," says Dumbledore dreamily, as the man hurries up to them.
"Albus, please," begs Minerva, who had seen Morelli approaching from a corridor away.
They listen closely as Logan relays what he had heard at the Nott household, and the happenings with their son Theodore. He proposes that Lucius Malfoy still has not said anything to the Notts regarding Alice's stay at his manor, knowing that this is information he can hold over the girl's head to manipulate her in the future.
Dumbledore thanks Morelli for this wise piece of cynicism—a thing he sorely lacks, especially surrounded by such lovely roses.
McGonagall shoots the headmaster a glare, and proceeds to ask Morelli what he believes the best course of action would be, now that he's been ordered to seek out and find Alice by any means necessary.
The messenger humbly admits that he believes the only way the girl will be kept adequately safe in the coming months, especially when the recent rise of dark forces in the Wizarding world is considered, is that she should stay at Hogwarts, entering as a sixth year.
McGonagall asks whether there would be any possibility for Theodore Nott and Alice to recognize one another as siblings.
Dumbledore says it would be doubtful for them to recognize one another by sight, but quite possible for them to discover their common origins—especially if Alice is sorted into Slytherin House.
McGonagall says something to the effect of a prayer that the girl will be placed elsewhere.
Dumbledore defends the Slytherins, though silently, he does hope, given the girl's extreme power and the darkness she's survived, that she will not find herself under the influence of Slytherin tendencies.
It is decided that Alice will be invited to attend Hogwarts in the coming year.
Dumbledore departs immediately for Ottery St. Catchpole, where the Burrow and its occupants await, yet unaware.
Remus, recently back from his latest escape to Siberia, is the first to spot Dumbledore, from the front-facing window of the second-to-uppermost room in the house, where he's been resting for the past day.
He'd expected the last week or so of the summer to be largely uneventful. But this event quickly dashes those expectations, and he feels a certain alertness come to attention at the forefront of his mind, filled suddenly with worry at the appearance of the important and busy headmaster.
Molly is the next to notice Dumbledore, through the kitchen window, and then Arthur, who has been standing beside her. Their children, Harry, Alice and Hermione are all out in the backyard on broomsticks or otherwise, and unaware of the grey-robed wizard rapidly approaching the front door—and then, all too soon, knocking on it, the sound of his casual humming audible through the wood.
"Good afternoon, Molly," says the old wizard, when she opens the door, an undampened twinkle in his eyes and a queer smile on his lips. "May I come in?"
Within two minutes, he's sat down on the couch in the Weasleys' sitting room with a cup of tea and a tray of sweets in front of him, remarking kindly on the loveliness of their home and asking if he might see Alice.
Molly hurries to the back door and calls out into the back field for Alice, who pries herself away from Harry and comes inside. Meanwhile, Remus has made his way downstairs, masterfully concealing a limp, and he joins Alice, Dumbledore and the Weasley parents in the sitting room.
The girl can feel her heart thumping hard inside of her body as Dumbledore prepares himself to get down to brass tacks. She'd spoken just two days before with Harry, at length, about the events which had taken place at the World Cup grounds after she'd left with Remus: the conjuring of the dark mark in the sky, and the bad feeling he got about the nightmare he'd had the night before the cup, itself—about a muggle man being murdered by a wizard, accompanied by Wormtail, who had been hiding in the form of Ron's pet rat Scabbers for the whole of their third year.
Alice knows that strange and dark things are happening in the world. And she can only pray, as she sits and waits for Dumbledore to reveal his purpose in the sitting room, that whatever is happening doesn't involve another drastic uprooting into terror and employment, at her expense.
"Alice," begins Dumbledore, with an undercurrent of 'on-the-contrary' as though he's just read her thoughts. "I believe we're all, in a sense, short on time. Would it offend you if I said what I came to say, simply and without unnecessary preamble?"
"Of course not, sir," says Alice, clasping her hands together tightly and squeezing them between her knees.
"Thank you," says Dumbledore, setting down his tea and taking a bite of one of the cookies on the tea tray, before beginning. "Put simply, I would like to invite you to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I've come to the conclusion that, in light of certain events, you—and everyone, really—will be safer within the castle, than anywhere else."
A moment of quiet ensues, in which Molly and Arthur exchange worried glances, and Remus looks cautiously at Alice, who is trying and failing to contain her nervous shaking. A part of her is excited beyond belief by the prospect of going to Hogwarts—where, first and foremost, she will be able to keep watch over Draco and Harry. But another part of her, just as sizeable and powerful, is seized with panic at the thought of being so far from Remus; who she knows will not be returning to his professorial position in a week's time.
"I must agree with the headmaster, Albus," says Remus after a moment.
"Of course," says the girl, shaking her head in agreement. "And I wouldn't wish to be a burden on anyone else. I would be honored to join the other students, Headmaster."
"It's agreed upon, then," says Dumbledore with a soft clap of his aging hands. He leans forward towards Alice, a grandfatherly twinkle in his eye, but also a note of deep, profound apology which is not lost on her, and sets something deep in her heart at ease. "I'm very glad you've accepted my offer. I look forward extremely to seeing you in the great hall, soon."
He smiles at her, a small smile, and Alice has to contain a tear that almost rolls down her cheek, smiling back at him, her own small, thin version of happiness—but there, nevertheless.
"I apologize for the abrupt nature of all this," says Dumbledore, separating his gaze from hers and standing up from the divan, prompting the others in the room to follow suit. "But I'm afraid I must depart."
"Of course, Dumbledore," says Arthur Weasley, smiling at the older wizard.
"No apologies are necessary," adds Molly.
"Thank you," says Dumbledore again, and waves them all a kind farewell, taking another cookie from the tea tray before smiling, his eyes twinkling behind his spectacles, and apparating suddenly out of the room, leaving a soft crack, and a pervasive aroma of peppermint and chocolate behind him.
It takes all of two seconds for Alice to resurface from her brief moment of contentment, to rise like a lightning bolt form her seat, excuse herself with a murmur, and run out the side door into the woods, taking a route that keeps her from being spotted by the other Weasleys, and Harry and Hermione, from the backyard.
Molly and Arthur look at each other in confusion and worry at the sudden actions, but Remus appeases them, putting out a hand and admitting with a sigh, "That would be my fault," before pursuing the girl at a much slower jog, into the golden but chilly midday woods.
He finds her sitting at the foot of a large, mossy tree, leaning back against the trunk. Her face is made sallow by the light filtering through the branches above, setting alight a number of tears on her face as she silently trembles. Her eyes are closed, and there's something tragically beautiful about her in that position—she is a poem poured into a physical form.
Remus takes a deep breath, approaching slowly so as not to startle her, and carefully sits down next to her.
She breathes in and out shakily, still not opening her eyes, though she turns her face down from the light, towards the ground. "I don't want to go," she admits, barely whispering.
"Whyever not?" asks Remus. He'd been under the impression that she would be champing at the bit to join other witches and wizard her age at Hogwarts, after being alone and cast out both at Ms. Figg's house and at the Malfoy Estate for so many years. Why would the prospect of having friends, of being immersed in a nurturing magical community, away from it all, suddenly be deterring to her?
The girl stands up with difficulty, carefully controlling her knees and steadying herself against the broad trunk of the tree as she turns slightly from Remus, hiding her face. He stands up after her, putting his hands in his pockets and looking at her bowed head, trying to decipher what her thoughts might be from the slight curve of her shoulder, the way her side moves as she inhales and exhales, the way the light turns the uppermost arc of her ear a flaming red, and makes visible the network of thin veins within.
"Because-" she says, her voice quaking and cracking. "Because I don't want to be away from you. Because..." Her head reels as she thinks the words, just a split second before they pass through her lips—and she can't say it's without her warrant.
"Because I love you."
Remus Lupin is taken aback. But a small, logical voice of reason within itself quickly works to sweep the sudden behemoth of confusion under the rug, and then begins to postulate and theorize, muting his emotions.
"Why?" he says aloud, his hands clenching into fists inside his pockets. "I could never offer you protection... stability... and that is what you need most, now. I don't even know where I'll go, myself, once you all leave on the train. I certainly can't remain here."
He realizes he's begun to ramble and shuts himself up before it's too late, measuring the girl's emotions by examining her head, the back of her neck, the small tendril of hair curling down from the bun atop her head.
Quickly, he casts off this expressed attraction on the likelihood that the girl is—on instinct—seeking a man close to Lucius's age, who might offer her protection and redemption, after escaping an abusive sexual relationship with the aforementioned. Quickly, he pegs the issue, just as he'd casted off that kiss in his office as Hogwarts as the byproduct of hormones and exhaustion.
That kiss... when she'd been so overcome with confusion and weakness, when he'd turned around from setting her flowers in the vase, and she'd lifted herself up on her tiptoes and places her lips so fearfully against his. He'd had to pull himself away, though something in him had wanted to draw her towards him, had wanted to wrap his arms around her waist, to touch her cheek.
The Remus of the present tries to stifle the bundle of confusion and the fluttering heartbeat that comes with the memory, but fails terribly. He knows, though he wishes he didn't, that some part of him is attracted to her. But he doesn't know what to make of the feeling. She is so young. He is so old, and unsafe, and... bad.
Alice shakes her head, and forces herself to turn to him. He'd only been able to make excuses to her... but something stirs deep in her very soul, that requires more from him. "Remus," she says, her voice quavering, but her intentions strong and written deeply, irreversibly, in her eyes. "I'm in love with you."
"No," says the man, shaking his head in denial. "You aren't." The girl's face falls slightly, but her eyes remain determined and strong in her face, looking forward at him unyieldingly. "You aren't," he says. "Alice, how could you be, I'm- I'm undeniably poor, I haven't done a thing to protect you from harm— For Merlin's sake, Alice, I was eighteen years old—an adult—when you were being born. This is just... this isn't right!" he exclaims, talking more to himself, now, than to her.
"I don't care," says Alice, her voice still sad, but firm in its stance.
He looks at her as though she's mad, and perhaps she is, but this is a wonderful form of madness, and if she must be stuck in it, then stuck in it she will be. But she only prays that she won't be stuck in it alone—without him.
"No," cries Remus, setting a number of small animals nearby on edge, but not loudly enough to inspire an exodus of birds. "You..." he nearly lifts a finger but stops himself, turning halfway away, an unspeakable grief catching in his throat. "You don't," he nearly whispers, "...don't know what I am."
"Yes, I do."
A cold shock drills into his mind. But he knows she's telling the truth—that she really does know. But though a part of him Is horrified by this sudden unveiling of truth, another part of him is full of a relief—not warm, but familiar, something he knows how to handle. He takes a slow step away from her and observes with the same mixture of regret and relief, that she is trembling.
Remus shakes his head, donning a cynical smile. He can't comprehend this girl. How can she stand here, how can she help but run away, when she knows how easily he could hurt her, being what he is?
"Then you're a fool for caring about me," he says darkly. "You're a smart girl. You ought to know that, by now."
He almost retreats, then and there, but a pinch of sour curiosity compels him to stand his ground; to dig further.
"Who told you?" he says. When she'd first said the words, he considered that, just possibly Harry, Ron, or Hermione had been the one to tell her about his condition, after what had happened at the end of last year. But now, he's not so sure. Perhaps, he hadn't given the golden trio enough credit for their ability to hold tight to sensitive information. And yet, of course, they would tell Alice, such a good friend of theirs, about such an important development. In that case, she'd have to have found out before they did.
"Malfoy?" Remus asks after a split second of deductions, already knowing it to be true.
"Yes," says Alice, taking a step forward. "But I'm not upset-" another step- "I'm not afraid."
"Ha!" says Remus suddenly, the sound breaking out of his throat of its own free will. It's at this, that several birds rise from the surrounding trees and make their way elsewhere. "Alice, isn't that glorious! Look at you—look at how brave you are. Don't be foolish," he spits, surprising himself, but too far gone, now, to take it back, "Of course you're afraid."
"No," says the girl, too terrified of these uncharted waters to take another step forward, but too dedicated to her cause to take a step back. "I'm not."
"Stop!" he shouts, suddenly towering over her, a dark, intimidating factor in his eyes which she's never seen present there, before.
Now, everything falls silent. Even the breeze. The sunlight, on its streaming path through the branches, pauses. The woods hold its breath.
Alice stumbles backward and steadies herself against the trunk of the tree, startled, tears springing into her eyes and racing down her cheeks from the instinctive fear at the volume of his voice. She swipes them away, shuddering. Remus shrinks again.
"There," he says. "See? You are frightened. That's good. That's your instinct. Listen to it."
Slowly the woods returns to life. But Alice isn't finished.
"That's unfair," she begins. It takes a moment for her to crawl free of her tremulous feelings, but soon her voice becomes even steadier than beforehand. "You can't manipulate my expectations that way—of course I was startled. But I'm still not afraid of you."
Remus shakes his head and looks down at the ground between his old shoes. This is a lost cause. He feels shame welling up inside of him at his loss of control.
"Remus," Alice says, finally working up the courage to regain her ground, slowly coming towards him, but not close enough to touch. "Remember, in the winter, when you taught me how to conjure my Patronus?"
He looks up at her, defeated, having hoped she wouldn't bring this up.
"I told you that my happy memory was of Dumbledore, when I first saw real wand-magic, the same night when Harry was brought to Privet Drive."
She collects herself, knowing this admission will be of great import, and works hard to look the wizard directly in the eyes. "That was a lie," she says. "I thought of you. When you fixed the glass that I broke in Ms. Figg's backyard and smiled at me. I thought you would be angry."
Bravely, she takes another fraction of a step forward. "I'm not afraid of you. You're good. You're... a good person."
The words seem, to her, to fall flat. But she knows they're the only words she could ever say. There is no way to put what needs to be conveyed into language form. She wishes with all her soul that there was some other way to show him. But she knows there isn't. Especially when his every fiber is set against her, in this way.
Remus shakes his head again, the formidable instinct to shout coiling within him, but he suppresses it. "I'm not... a person," he says, barely above a whisper. "Alice. Look at me."
Shakily, his hand rises to his face, and his fingers trace the old familiar scars, barely missing his eye before cutting across his cheek and the bony bridge of his nose.
Alice shivers. Something is so... cold about all of this. She can't deny that there truly is a sort of terror in her—Remus is not entirely wrong, and he knows it. She knows he knows it, from the devastated, but reserved and unattached way he looks at her in the following moments.
It's too much.
The girl crumbles into sobs. On the tree above her, an entire branch full of leaves suddenly wither and turn to brown, dislodging themselves without need of wind and drifting down lazily to the ground around her.
Remus steels his body against the possibility of an embrace, as motionless as a statue.
Alice is the one to walk away first, deeper into the woods, not back to the Burrow, leaving him there in his grief—a hateful, self-serving grief for himself... but most of all, a grief for her.
The next day, Fred and George escort her to Diagon Alley, where they shop for her school supplies, managing after much effort to finally distract and cheer her with jokes and charms of their own devising.
Being surrounded by magic never fails to take a positive, joyful toll on Alice, and in no time, it's as though she's never felt warmer.
The argument in the woods, and Remus himself, are far from her mind.
When they return to the Burrow that evening, he is gone.
Spells used in this chapter:
"Brackium Emendo," a spell used to heal broken bones. This is the spell Gilderoy Lockhart tried and failed to use on Harry's arm in his second year—luckily, Remus is a much more trustworthy wizard, in more ways than one.
"Impervius," used to waterproof items, in this case, Alice's burn bandages before she gets into the bath
I know the scene in the Nott house was very brief—I felt that I just needed to get you to see what was happening with Theodore (before we head to Hogwarts), without making you sit through a really mundane scene. The same issue with some of the other happenings in this chapter... I hope these smaller snippets don't throw you off! You can always let me know if there's something about the writing that doesn't sit well with your reading style, and I will do my best to improve!
Sorry if there was some too-overstated symbolism in this chapter... I usually try to keep it as subtle as possible for the sake of letting you do some thinking for yourselves, but I felt that probably it got to be a little too much, here. (For example, Remus sitting literally torn between the moon and Alice in the Inn room at night may have been a little too obvious). So, I just want you to know that when that sort of thing happens in my writing, it's not because I think you're daft and can't figure things out for yourself—it's just because I'm the daft one, and too sleep-deprived to be writing in the given moment.
This probably doesn't matter, anyway... I have a feeling you'll forgive me.
Thank you all for reading! I hope the site doesn't give me too much more trouble with posting chapters in the future... sorry about that!
(Also, yeah, that plan about keeping this super short didn't really work out. But hey, at least it wasn't in the five-figure range!)
NEXT CHAPTER: OFF TO HOGWARTS! I'M SO EXCITED! GOOD (AND REALLY, REALLY BAD) THINGS COMING UP AHEAD!
Thank you for not plagiarizing my writing!
On_Errand_Bad
8,227 words
Wednesday, 4 November 2020